


Upgrade

by Philomytha



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Bujold
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Ficathon, Gen, Medical, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 12:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illyan starts a new life</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upgrade

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2009 bujold_fic ficathon, for the prompt: Simon Illyan's early Imperial service. After joining ImpSec, but before becoming Aral's shadow.

"... looks good."

"Maybe. I'm still not happy with the gamma wave pattern."

"You just have to wait a minute more and we'll know if it's worked."

A snort. "No. We'll know if it _hasn't_ worked in a minute. It'll be six months or more before we know if it has."

"I don't like installing it on all these Barrayarans. I don't think they have the necessary flexibility of thought."

"Well, they're military men."

"I know. I think we should only try civilians in future." A sigh. "What are the odds on this one?"

"Li likes him, don't you?"

"Better than the others, anyway."

"Ssh, he can probably hear you by now."

The voices changed, less casual, more guarded.

"Second dose, now."

A hiss of a hypospray against his skin, a cold tingling like frozen ants marching down his spine, colonising his body.

He recognised the voices. He'd never heard them before. With an effort, he opened his eyes. For a moment everything was blurry, as was normal when you'd just been woken up after an operation. He'd never been woken up after an operation before. His vision began to settle, and he could see clearly. He was still in the operating theatre. He'd never seen the place in his life. Icy panic began to trickle outwards from his chest.

There was a lovely woman standing over him. That was an improvement on ImpMil. No record of ImpMil. The senior neurologist, who'd been setting him up for this for weeks. Whom he'd never seen before.

He'd been trained, he knew how to put the panic aside and deal with the reality before him, but this time he wasn't sure what the reality was. Wasn't sure who _he_ was. Images rushed through his mind: his mother, his brother, his apartment, the house he'd been born in, all familiar and completely new to him.

Wait, wait, and it will come clear, he promised himself, promised the two competing sets of information in his head, and prayed it wasn't a false promise.

"Ah, good," the lovely neurologist said. "How do you feel?"

He coughed, clearing his throat of phlegm and the plastic taste of whatever tubes had been in his mouth. "Strange," he said honestly.

"Headache? Blurred vision? Ringing ears?"

He shook his head. It felt a little sore, but not worryingly so.

"Do you remember who I am?"

"Dr Li," he said without thinking, then wondered how he knew when he'd seen her for the first time forty-five seconds ago. Because you've worked with her for weeks, he told himself. And then he remembered what he'd worked with her on.

"It's in?" he asked. He tried to move his hand, to feel his skull, but he was still restrained. His fingers twitched. There were half-a-dozen ways to break out of these kind of bonds. He could feel his knowledge of the techniques spinning through his mind, being duplicated in his new memory.

"Oh, let me undo those. Yes, it's in. It should be up and running now."

"I think ... I think it is."

Her eyes focused on his face alertly. "And?"

"It works."

"Excellent. Now, can you tell the two memories apart?"

He observed the way everyone in the room tensed as he hesitated, probing his mind. They were clearly distinct. The chip was colder, crisper, like a bitter winter morning. His real memory--no, he corrected his thought, both were real--his organic memory was soft by comparison, fuzzy, heated with emotion. He answered the question. "Yes."

"That's a very good sign," said Dr Li. "Let's see how you're doing..."

Then it was standard cognitive functioning tests and reflexes and sensors on his skull for the next hour and a half. He could feel all the answers being stored on his chip, could dart back and forth in time and replay them all, moving from present to past without tripping. He had tried and tried to imagine what it would be like to have this chip, how it would feel, but even his most ambitious dreams seemed flat compared to this reality. He had _everything_, in his head. It was like being a god, all-seeing, all-knowing.

It was only later, back in his quarters, having passed enough tests to satisfy Dr Li, that he realised it was not only like being a god. It was like being watched by one. A cold, merciless god. None of his actions could be forgotten, safely obliterated in embarrassment or even forgiveness. It was after his attempt to flirt with the pretty medtech who'd accompanied him to his room--propelling him on a float-chair, even though he could walk just fine, because of some bizarre hospital regulation--that he understood this. Replaying the scene on his chip, he saw himself the way the medtech must have: absurd, presumptious, his jokes feeble and his compliments transparent.

But there was no turning back now; the chip was part of him. He finally understood why the psychological screening tests had been so interested in self-control and detachment. Everything on the chip had to be seen as mere data, raw information to be categorised and analysed or ignored as necessary. Illyan put aside his embarrassment, his feelings, and began to work through the exercises Dr Li had assigned to him. If he didn't learn to master the chip, it would end by mastering him.


End file.
